Old Jade

When my husband John’s mother moved in with us due to her declining health, we worried how she’d tolerate our house cats. Granny is not an animal person, but we had Jade, our 17-year-old tomcat, and my daughter and her husband’s cat, Stitch, who’s so large he’s nicknamed “The Bear.”

Granny disliked Stitch. His size intimidated her because she was so unsteady when she walked, and no matter how much he tried cozying up to her, Granny shooed him away. In contrast, she fell in love with Jade. Calculated in human years, he was in his 80s, just like her.

We tried keeping Stitch in a bedroom, away from her, but that was hard. He needed time socializing with the family. We kept a close eye on him whenever he was out; however, to our surprise, whenever Stitch got too close to Granny, arthritic Jade moved nearby to protect her.

Granny explained, “Jade understands me. We’re the same age. We have to stick together.”

Every time Stitch approached her, she’d holler at the sleeping Jade, “Git over here! Git that Bear!” Then Jade would rouse blinking from his nap on the sofa, yawn, stretch and meander over to Granny’s side.

When Jade died at age 18, Granny mourned with the rest of us. She had lost not only her best bodyguard, but the only cat she had ever loved in her life.